Tracing Gucci Mane’s Long Road to Triumph

Gucci Mane has been at the center of underground street rap for nearly a decade, and he is among the most important artists in contemporary music. He has had one of the most prolific, influential, and unorthodox runs in modern rap, a saga replete with violence, arrests, beefs, tirades, and tons of music. He coached up Waka Flocka Flame, Young Thug, Migos, and Rich Homie Quan. He was an early investor in Future. He was an early Nicki Minaj supporter, long before her Cash Money deal. He introduced super-producers Mike WiLL Made-It and Metro Boomin, and he provided platforms for countless other producers including Lex Luger and 808 Mafia. Despite his minimal chart presence, Gucci (aka Radric Davis) can be felt across mainstream rap today, in its eccentricities and thumping 808s.

But Gucci wasn’t always hailed for his contributions, and it took a tumultuous journey for him to get his due. It began with the 2005 single “Icy,” which featured already-certified trap star Young Jeezy, then petitioning to be Atlanta’s preeminent hustler. The two MCs were total opposites, Jeezy with his sneering smugness and Gucci with his ditzy oddball charisma. As Jeezy dominated the airwaves, Gucci mass-produced mixtapes, but they clashed over payment and usage for “Icy.” On the Gucci diss “Stay Strapped,” Jeezy rapped, “Even his own mama know, Radric Davis a bitch!” putting a $10,000 bounty on his chain. Only weeks later, Gucci killed Pookie Loc, a rapper and Jeezy associate, during an attempted robbery gone bad. Gucci claimed he shot Pookie in self-defense, and the charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence, but the incident intensified a feud that would last a decade and define both men.

By 2009, Gucci Mane was already a polarizing figure, but he was undeniably productive. He all but cornered the market on mixtapes, dominating street rap just as the online tape economy was exploding. He became ubiquitous just before artists started releasing studio-quality mixtapes, as DatPiff was building a formidable database online. At this time, Gucci capped the most impressive series of mixtapes in rap history: Bird Money, Writing on the Wall, The Movie: Part 2 (The Sequel), The Burrprint (The Movie 3D), and the Cold War trilogy (which Diplo would turn into a mix soon after). The mixtape run built momentum for his first wave of commercial successes, when The State vs. Radric Davis went gold and produced three Top 10 rap hits. When the album was released, though, he was in jail in Fulton County.

Gucci’s career had already been marred by prison stints and questionable decisions, but the most harebrained arc in his life began in 2011. That January, he was admitted into a psychiatric hospital after his lawyer pled “mental incompetency.” His release from the facility prompted him to get an ill-advised face tattoo of an ice cream cone in celebration. He covered the Green Issue of The Source magazine in March, proclaiming, “I’m so big in Atlanta right now, I can’t even go outside.” And he wasn’t wrong: Miley Cyrus, newly freed from Disney stardom, posed with the cover, mimicking his grill-bearing expression. He was more popular than ever, but weeks later, he was arrested for shoving a woman out of a moving Hummer after she refused to have sex for $150. When he wasn’t locked up, he was producing collabs—with Waka Flocka, then-up-and-comer Future, and, more absurdly, with the Kreayshawn affiliate V-Nasty. He was raking it in—he claimed to have made $1.3 million on the projects in 2013—but still having run-ins with the law: He hit a military veteran over the head with a bottle when the fan tried to take a photo. A day after he’d made bail, Gucci violated parole and was arrested again.

During a Twitter meltdown that September, released over several days, Gucci aired out his dirty laundry in a drug-fueled tirade. He revealed that several key members of the Brick Squad team were no longer signed to the imprint, and some of them were never officially signed at all. He put the artists on his roster on the auction block. He shared sordid details of alleged encounters with several celebrity women, particularly Nicki Minaj. Gucci admitted that he was no longer signed to Atlantic Records, that his Brick Squad imprint no longer had a distribution deal, and that he’d parted ways with his longtime manager Coach K. His entire self-made indie empire was collapsing around him, and he was aimlessly attacking longtime advocates online. A few weeks later, Gucci apologized, saying “Lean destroyed me,” and announced plans to go to rehab. However, on September 13, 2013, he was booked on gun and drug possession charges. “Rapper Gucci Mane Arrested — Again,” headlines read. This one was worse than the others. Gucci faced felony charges that carried a sentence of up to 20 years in prison, and he was sentenced to serve 183 days.

An extended stay can kill a rapper’s buzz for good, but Gucci had a plan: Never stop releasing music. Be heard, constantly. He certainly wasn’t the first rapper to release songs while incarcerated, but he was the first to flood the market. He released a whopping 33 projects while in prison, with diminishing returns, but the constant carousel of throwaway verses did simulate his presence on the outside. But it was the seeds he’d sown in his prime that really paid dividends: In his collaborators, he had his own unofficial street team and his own propaganda machine. There was 21 Savage’s Free Guwop EP, Young Scooter’s “Free Guwop” song, K Camp’s “Free Guwop,” Young Thug’s “Free Gucci,” Remy Boyz’s “Free Gucci,” iLoveMakonnen’s “Big Gucci,” Chief Keef’s “Gucci Gang.” Waka put enmities aside and lobbied for Gucci’s freedom. Mike WiLL sold “Free Gucci” ugly Christmas sweaters (which Lil Wayne bought and advertised). By the time the rapper was getting art exhibitions in Williamsburg curated in his image, the narrative had been rewritten. There was reason to wonder: “Does Bernie Sanders Know Gucci Mane?” The uncoordinated campaign reimagined Gucci as a folk hero. He was behind bars, yet he was more visible than he’d ever been.

When the time finally came for Gucci to be released, the excitement surrounding him had reached a fever pitch—not unlike Lil Boosie, who’d commanded a similar sudden surge of interest near the end of his confinement. But where Boosie returned foul-mouthed and problematic, saying all of the wrong things, Gucci Mane returned newly reformed, healthy, sober, and repentant. Everyone loves a comeback, and no one is easier to root for than a humbled virtuoso.

Gucci’s redemption story is a perfect storm of circumstances: a cleaner image resonating with a more progressive rap climate, his freedom coinciding with a big payoff in social capital amassed during years of building up rap’s most popular scene, streaming rules benefiting and favoring prolific artists. Plus he has a newfound willingness to play nice with others and no shortage of trap artists made in his image advocating for him. These converging events have made Gucci the things he never was at his best: a media darling, a platinum rapper, a role model. At times, it can be jarring trying to reconcile the Gucci who once threatened rappers and fans alike with the Gucci who tweets about good manners. But growth should be this rewarding.

There is a clear-cut divide in Gucci’s career arc: The two Guccis are somewhat at odds with each other, and yet, there can’t be one without the other. The opening half featured a volatile provocateur who was one of the most brilliant rappers ever; the latter unveils a motivational family man focused on his wellness, who is, for the most part, creatively stagnant. Gucci has complicated what a “successful rap career” can mean, but it’s also worth wondering what it means for Gucci to be receiving his widest recognition long after he’s passed his musical prime. What does it mean when a great rapper finally gets what he deserves, long after he’s stopped being great? How do misdeeds tally in a reclamation? We’re all finding out with him now.